The nurse gave her a sympathetic smile and watched as Judith replaced the handset and headed back to her parents.

In the taxi on the way home, Judith didn’t speak. Not that she ever said much in the company of her mother, but this time she remained completely silent. As did her father. Patricia was oblivious, chatting away – some would say flirting, even – with the driver from Celyn Cabs, divulging the drama of her morning, and explaining she’d had a mild heart attack and would have to go back for more tests but they’d treated her like royalty there, thank God for the NHS. The driver was completely taken in. He thought Patricia was charming. They always did.

Sat in the front, Judith struggled hard with her anger, wanting to scream out loud at the injustice of having a mother like hers. A mother who would purposefully sabotage her daughter’s much-longed-for holiday. A mother who would so shamelessly lie in order to prevent her daughter finding any kind of happiness.

I hate her, she said inside her head, over and over like a mantra, twisting the little box of dice in her hand from pure frustration. She’d kept it in her pocket like a lucky charm since George had given it to her that morning.

They pulled up in front of the house and George got out, paying the driver and opening the door for Patricia.

Reverting to victim mode for the benefit of any watching neighbours, Patricia took her husband’s proffered arm and let him lead her slowly indoors.

Judith went ahead of them, wanting to put as much distance as she feasibly could between herself and her mother. She walked straight through to the kitchen. Her rucksack sat by the fireplace, waiting patiently to leave home for its big adventure, like an eager puppy longing to be walked. She went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. Through the window she could see the backgammon set in the yard outside, half put away as it had been when the police had come knocking.

From the living room, she heard the familiar sound of her mother chipping away at George: Don’t do this … Make sure you do that … nip, chip, nag, sneer … The well-worn soundtrack of Judith’s home life. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to go back into the other room.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ George said, passing Judith as she came back in. Her mother, slumped now in an armchair, had her eyes closed, her head back.

‘So what happens now?’ Judith asked her quietly.

‘Going back next week, see the specialist,’ Patricia mumbled, monotone.

Judith nodded. Biding her time. ‘And they said it was a heart attack, did they?’

‘George, bring me in some Alka-Seltzer, will you, love?’ Patricia called out to the kitchen. Sometimes her mother could sound so sweet and normal. ‘And a couple of Veganin. I’ve got a migraine coming on.’ The dexterity with which she could avoid an unwelcome question was remarkable.